


they were all in love with dying

by Pearly_Pornography



Series: Band Club Shortfics [1]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Bad Ideas, Child Abuse, Gen, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-05-29 19:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15079847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: A bottle of vodka, a skateboard accident, a broken ankle.





	they were all in love with dying

Arcadia was a boring place. On weekends, most children could be found searching for adventure, since they weren't old enough to know there was no adventure to be found. For the members of the high school band Dethklok, however, they were old enough to make their own adventure.

"I amn'ts doin's nothin's."

Skwisgaar sat watching as his four stupid friends put the finishing touches on their ramp. Really just a slab of wood on a garbage can, held together with duct tape, nails and a wish. "My nails will gets ruins." Pickles grinned, taking a swig of beer before passing the bottle to his left. Murderface took it in a bony hand. They were playing the Butthole Surfers on a tape deck, which Nathan had affectionately named "Janine". The sun beamed down on Toki, who was covering the ramp in water from a rubber hose. 

"C'mahn, 's almost done."

"Nos."

"You at least gonna skate on it?"

"You goes first."

Pickles snorted. Toki aimed the hose at Skwisgaar, who screeched like a cat getting its tail stepped on. Nathan was far too busy feeling the music through the power of ecstasy, which him and Murderface always did way too much of. They were dancing together with their hands connected, and singing, too.

"Ams finish." Toki hiccuped, looking like he might pass out in his own vomit. Skwisgaar took a sip of his daiquiri, with an alcohol tolerance poor enough to feel the cocktail punch his brain. Pickles grabbed a skateboard, one that had a picture of Bart Simpson on the underside. He dropped it in front of the ramp, ruffling his scarlet lion's mane and licking his lips, the piercing rolling over his gums as he did. He kicked off, and as he reached the apex of the jump, he spat beer all over himself. His body hit the grassy ground, skidding a short time. Nathan clapped.

"Fucking metal."

Pickles nodded, with a thumb up, blood dripping from his nose.

"Hey, hey, heyheyheyhey check thisch out." Murderface grinned, tugging his shirt over his head. "...I'm Cornholio." Nathan laughed, Toki laughed harder. Pickles laughed so hard, he vomited a little bit. Skwisgaar snorted a bit, which was more than usual.

"Wait guys, I gaht an idea, hold ahn."

Pickles ran off. Meanwhile, Nathan contemplated how much lighter fluid he could drink before he died. Toki wrapped his arms around his body, and yelled,

"I loves myself!"

They contemplated taking a picture of Murderface with his pants down and a necklace around his waist, and then selling the picture as a photo of Pickles' mom's titties for a big profit. However, his "deeply-rooted schentral-American heritage" made the skin tones far too different.

"Maybe we could sell pictures of your mom's titties."

"My mom'sch dead, her tittiesch are gone!"

"Oh, gross."

Murderface punched Nathan in the shoulder. Nathan hardly felt it, and Murderface was hardly really mad.

From the front to the backyard, Pickles showed up, dragging a slip-'n-slide behind him. When he returned, Skwisgaar was holding Murderface's legs while Murderface chewed on the grass. Pickles plopped the long piece of plastic over the ramp.

"I have created a monster."

"I wanna try it!"

Murderface kicked Skwisgaar's chin in his excitement, scrambling over to the skateboard he brought, which also had a different picture of Bart on it. He'd covered the underside in band stickers, to boot. He squirmed out of his shirt, revealing his valley ribs, criss-cross scars and pooching stomach.

"Go, Willy!" Pickles clapped. The others slowly joined. Murderface grinned as Toki once again soaked the ramp with water.

"Lesch go! Schlim Shady!" He kicked off on the long strip of the slide, picking up speed with his curly hair fluttering behind him. Laughter filled the air as he touched the sky, always a happy moment before disaster. Despite weighing next to nothing, still, Murderface plummeted down on the other side of the fence, in the Remeltintdrinc family's yard. The rest of the group whooped and hollered over the sound of screaming guitars, chugging from glass bottles, until the leap was ended by an almighty 'crack'.

"...Moidersface?"

The only response Toki or anyone received was a loud groan.

Pickles swallowed.

"Skwisgaar, y'think yer tall enough t' git over that fence."

"Let's moves to de fronts, ams always shorter deres."

Hastily the four ran to the front of Abigail's house, clamoring wildly. Skwisgaar was about to throw himself over the gate when he saw those cold, green eyes in the window of the big blue house. "Shits! Ams Abigails!"

"Go, hurry up!" Pickles shoved him past the point of no return, into Abigail's perfectly-mowed lawn. Skwisgaar got a faceful of grass, and scrambled towards Murderface, noting that Abigail had left the window... no doubt to suck out his brains. Murderface looked like shit.

Shaking, his cheek was pressed into the grass. No amount of molly could conceal the pain he was probably experiencing. Skwisgaar's gaze quickly shifted to Murderface's ankle, which was... oogh. Skwisgaar puked, half from the alcohol and half from the disgust. Crap, this wasn't even his yard. Americans were so particular about their yards... Skwisgaar coughed, wiping his mouth. Murderface whimpered.

"Schwischgaar whaddo I do...?"

"Just- just be calms and--"

"Hello." Skwisgaar and Murderface both yelped, as Abigail seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Her arms were crossed. She was fully dressed on a weekend, Jesus Christ Almighty... Murderface twitched, and yowled, pain shooting up his bones. 

"Abigails, dis amen'ts--"

"Hey  _Slim._ " Abigail stared at Murderface. "Looks like you  _broke something._ "

"I  _know that_ , you rat-lookin' whore!"

"Woah, pulling out the insults already, that's almost a new record."

"Whats you wants." Skwisgaar swallowed, squinting at Abigail. She replied, calculated as ever.

"I was just going to call 9-1-1 for you."

"No!" Murderface squeaked, slamming her shin with his skateboard. She flinched a bit, still standing firm. Her flip phone was in her hand, a threat wrapped in chrome casing. Her brows lowered. "No, no, no, no, no!" He was loud.

"You don't really have a choice in this matter. Your rib looks broken, too."

"No!" He rammed a boot into her ankle, and she swore under her breath, hissing through her teeth. He also hissed.

"You's legs am brokens, chills."

"I can't go," Murderface whined. "gramma will kill me."

"Pff, she can't kill you for getting medical help."

"She'll  _kill me,_ Ab'gail. Don't call nobody, I'll walk it off."

"I means," Skwisgaar shrugged. "cans you force him to goes to hobspitals? Ams dat against de Americas laws?"

"I'm above the law." Her tone was as flat as her hair was curly. "Morality's a complicated thing, Skwisgaar, sometimes you have to piss off a few grandmothers to do the right thing."

"I means, uh," He lowered his voice. "I t'inks you cans just drives him, callin's 9-1-1 seems like bits of a stretch, ja...?"

Abigail lowered the phone, lips curled a bit in frustration. "You cans drives, right. I's seens you drives before."

"Fine, I'm--"

**_"Skweesgahr!"_ **

Skwisgaar flinched, turning towards the front. Pickles was shaking the fence. "I'll save you from th' beast!"

"Pickle, nos." Despite Skwisgaar's protest, Murderface dropped onto his hands and knees, painstakingly crawling towards the gate. Abigail grabbed him by the back of his head, slowly yet calculated, flipping him into a bridal carry. She was terrifying. Skwisgaar had to make note of her boundless hammer-throw strength.

"Let's go."

Murderface put up a fair fight, considering he was full of broken bones. But in the end, the distance from the yard to Abigail's car was next to nothing.

"Oh my gods!" Toki pointed. "Dey ams kidnappin's Moiderface!"

"Ams takins hims to de homsittals." Skwisgaar finally re-approached his crew. "Hes brokens his leggy foots."

"Oh shit." Nathan grunted, still looking like he was prepared to fall over like a skyscraper with 18 King Kongs on it. "We should probably, uh..."

"Go withs?"

"Yeah." Rolling up his nonexistent sleeves, Nathan barreled into the side of Abigail's slowly-moving car. It left a small dent. She rolled the window down.

"Nathan you gotta help me, she'sch makin' me--"

"Can I help you." She gently shoved Murderface back into his seat.

"We gotta take him, he's our boy."

"You do realize there's four of you, and this car only fits five."

"Uh, that's what you think? Pickles sit on Toki's lap."

"Whet?" 

Nathan shoved Toki in the backseat and then shoved Pickles in on top of him. Skwisgaar was stuck in the middle, which he hated more than anything. The middle was, objectively, the worst seat in any car. 

Murderface was pounding on the window next to him. Abigail had clearly locked the opening mechanism, because he futzed and potchkeyed with the damn thing constantly, and  _loudly_. 

"Lemme out! Lemme outta here! I'm gonna have you all schued! My friendsch are all MUTINYING!"

"Shut up." Abigail groaned. "If I turned on some music would you quiet down?"

"No! Lemme outta th' car!"

"What music should I put on."

"Metallica!" Nathan yelled.

"Don't have it."

"Fuck you!"

It was a long drive. Mostly arguing. Skwisgaar was still high as a kite and most of it was just like a gentle punch in the shoulder. The only ER near Arcadia felt like it was eight-fuckillion miles away, as Arcadia was one of those "liminal space" towns. You could leave without knowing you were ever there. 

His eyes fell heavy, and when they opened again, he was in the parking lot of the hospital, feeling like shit.

"C'mahn, Skweesgahr, yer gonna boil alive in th' car innis weather."

"Guh, de comedowns amn'ts worth its."

"Comedown? 's too early fer the comedown, yer jus' bein' a bitch. Hurry up, Nathan can't hold 'im ahff much lahnger."

"...Wuh?"

Skwisgaar poked his head out. Nathan was holding a towel, which he had wrapped around Murderface's body. Murderface was writhing like a stuck cat, screeching and hissing until spit bubbled up from his mouth. He drooled on Nathan, who grimaced.

"Toki, 's your turn to hold him."

"You just picks him up!" Toki whined, but still complied, taking the bassist burrito from Nathan's arms. "Shush now, Moidersface."

"Lemme go! You Bentadick Arnold!"

"Shuts up!"

"Blaaagh!"

The group dashed into the hospital's front door. Or, rather, dashed as much as four tripping high school students and an over-encumbered young missy could. Then was a long, long, long wait.

Skwisgaar waited in the waiting room, and then while Murderface was getting checked, and then they all waited in the waiting room some more. All just waiting. He tried to entertain himself with magazines, but they were all pretty boring. Murderface had already stolen the most interesting-looking copy of NatGeo.

Just constant waiting in these American hospitals.

Then again, Skwisgaar couldn't remember ever being hospitalized in Sweden. He was relatively healthy.

"I can't get treatment."

Murderface suddenly mumbled, clutching the magazine he was reading. 

"Why not?" Nathan rose an eyebrow. "Just get the treatment."

"Gramma ain't insured, she'sch gonna kill me."

Pickles coughed a little. Silence. "How'm I gonna pay. She'sch gonna beat the shit outta me."

Nobody knew the answer. All that they could do was pack up and carry Murderface home, whether it was moral or not.


End file.
